


How I Met Your Parents

by lisachan



Series: The Tribe [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Comedy, Fluff and Angst, Gender Identity, M/M, Multi, Open Relationships, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 03:00:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17973200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisachan/pseuds/lisachan
Summary: Michael has a messy family and a partner, and he keeps secrets with both of them. He hasn't told his family that his partner is a gender fluid person, and he hasn't told his partner that his family is actually composed not just by two parents and a bunch of sisters, but by two parents, a bunch of sisters, as much ex boyfriends as a lifetime would allow and also a girlfriend, his adoptive father's girlfriend, to be precise, because yes, Michael's parents are in an open relationship, and that tends to complicate things enough for Michael to decide it might be too soon to tell Riley.Now, though, Riley and The Tribe have to meet. And it's not going to be easy.





	How I Met Your Parents

**Author's Note:**

> This is something crazy that I plotted with Tab, like, around five years ago XD We never had a chance to put it down into an actual story, but we kept the whole plotting session in a Word document that in 2019 has finally become useful, as I was in need of a story to write on the prompt "Happy families are all alike" (Anna Karenina, Tolstoy) for [The Clash of the Writing Titans #9](https://www.landedifandom.net/tag/cow-t-9/), [Week 3](https://www.landedifandom.net/cowt9-week3/), Mission 2.   
> I just want to say that I love this crazy family and I can't wait to write and learn more about them. One day I'll turn this into a sit com, and I'll make big money with it.

Michael never thought about his family in terms of _normal_ or _weird_. Sure, he always knew there was some sort of unconventionality to it – it wouldn’t have been possible _not_ to know, considering the considerable, though not overwhelming, amount of classmates and schoolmates who had made sure, over the years, that he knew how _dirty_ it was to be the son of two men, instead than one man and one woman. But even then, when those kids mocked him for having two dads, the first thing he managed to think, even before realizing that it was painful to be mocked like that, was: if you think that’s weird, you should meet the rest of the family.

He had been used, since he was very little, to see his family change shape and consistency over the year. It had been dad and Bentley, in the beginning, then their relationship had ended and Wes had come into the picture, and with it Zoe. His first baby sister. (And he didn’t know she’s be the first of many, yet.)

Then, they had lost Wes, and only dad, him and Zoe had been left. And a couple years later his family had changed again to welcome Daniel, and since he came into their life the family hasn’t stopped growing and changing, not even for a second. Michael can’t even remember the last time he could confidently say he wasn’t scared to go back and find out the family had changed shape again. Daniel came bringing such a mess with him, with his baggage of boyfriends and girlfriends, and brought so many new people in their lives, four new baby sisters and a little one on the way, that there were more chances to go back home and find an unrecognizable family, than there were to come back home and finds things exactly as he had left them coming out of it to go to school in the morning.

However, he had been raised right in between such changes. They had become part of his life, he couldn’t have imagined it without them, and therefore he had never found them particularly weird, much as, he imagines, a person raised in one of those weird religious cult communities would find nothing particularly weird with its specific social structure and moral values.

His basic social structure is that of a play-doh family that changed to best accommodate its members. His founding moral values are freedom, affection and understanding. He finds both things better than most other social structures and moral values he’s seen in his life out the safe nest of his house, and he’s grateful for having been raised like that.

However, it is also true that he had never had to face the problem of introducing his family to someone special. As he’s supposed to do now.

Riley looks at him with their huge gray eyes, clearly expecting something from him. They have every right to do so, considering it was him that, two minutes ago, told them he had to speak with them, to tell them something important. Still, he couldn’t imagine that saying what he has to say would’ve been this difficult.

It’s just a bunch of words, if he really thinks about it. As you know, in a few days it will be my birthday. My family has organized a little birthday party for me, and I would like you to come with me, so that I could introduce you to them. They’re dying to meet you.

All of that is naturally the truth and, in a way, it is as simple as it sounds. In many more than one way, though, it is much more complicated.

Birthday parties, in his family, never involve just his parents and sisters. They are complex, multi-layered events that incorporate the whole tribe, as Daniel likes to call it. Which means the amount of _family_ that will be present at the party will be an embarrassing, outrageous number. It’s not going to be just his dads and sisters, no, it’s going to be his dad, his dad’s ex boyfriend, his other dad Daniel, Daniel’s ex boyfriend, Daniel’s current girlfriend _and_ all his sisters, plus their respective significant others, that, by God’s grace, at the moment are just one person, but in the past have been more.

How do you even summarize that in but a few words – and without sounding terrifying – to someone you’ve been with only for a few months, and that you’re in love with enough not to want to see them run away in sheer terror at the mere mention of being introduced to such an incredible amount of people?

“Mike, are you okay?” Riley gets closer, watching him curiously. The moment they come near, as usual, all Michael can see are their eyes. They’re gray, wide and doll-like, the eyelashes so long that, even during a generally cloudy day such as this one, they cast curvy shadows on their cheeks.

He loves Riley’s eyes – he loves them to the point he would like to be able to say that they were the first thing he noticed about them. Unfortunately, as it is often the case, the truth is much less poetic and much more down to earth. He was in a club with his friends and as he battled his way through the crowd to get to the bar he passed by this group of people dressed in extremely eye-catching clothes, lots of laces, strings and studs, and among them, weird as it was, it was a back who mesmerized him. Left almost completely bare by a little black top that tied around the neck and around the waist, much like a bikini, though slightly less out of place in a club, the back stood there, white and smooth, shoulder blades moving gracefully with every gesture of the person owning them, skin covered in a huge tattoo in the shape of a red and black bleeding cherry tree.

One look and Michael was lost. He was in love.

He stopped abruptly, his friends all crashing against him and cursing him in more languages than one – understandable, considering two of them are Latino, one is Italian and another one is studying German as he prepares to move to Germany with his girlfriend in a year – and he started staring at the back as if it had eyes of its own and could stare back at him.

The whole club fell into a metaphorical, imaginary silence that echoed, in his head, only with the beats of his own heart. And in that deafening silence he could hear the comments of the friends of the back, pointing at him, laughing about him. “Looks like you’ve got a fan, Riley.” “You paralyzed him, we’ll call you Medusa from now on.” “We better call 911, I think the dude had a stroke or something.”

Then, the back had spoken. With the most beautiful voice Michael had ever heard. “Guys, please,” it had said, and finally its owner had turned around to take a look at the poor, unfortunate soul their friends had been talking about, and Michael’s eyes had met Riley’s eyes, and he had been done for, defeated without even starting a war, surrendering before he was ever attacked in the first place. Riley’s eyes had sealed his fate, but it had been their back dooming him.

“Can I help you with something?” Riley had asked, looking at him.

Michael had swallowed and had taken a step towards them. “Your back is beautiful,” he had said, unable to formulate any other rational thought.

Once again, Riley’s friends had burst into laughing, and Michael had been the subject of their mockery for a good half hour. But it had all been worth it when he had ended the night being allowed to drive Riley home after dancing with them for hours. And when Riley had leaned in to kiss him on his lips, before saying goodnight, Michael had known the time had come, he had finally met The One, and for a while he had been completely, stupidly, absentmindedly happy.

Until he had realized the would’ve had to introduce them to his parents, of course.

Which is what he’s trying to do now. Or better, what he _will_ be trying to do, once he finds a way to actually tell Riley he wants to bring them along at his birthday party.

“Um, as you know,” he starts off, looking everywhere but their face, “It will be my birthday, soon.”

“Yeah,” Riley curls their pretty, full lips into the most adorable smirk, “You’ll be 22. And for two precious months there will be just four years separating us instead of five, and I will be able to trick my mind into thinking I’m not the old boot I truly am.”

This is something Riley has always been obsessing on, even though they joke about it. When they found out that, despite how similar they looked in age, Michael was only 21, while they were already 29, they had immediately started saying things like that – and of course their friends didn’t help, seeing as they kept telling them Michael was their toy boy.

Michael doesn’t feel like a toy boy, and to be perfectly fair, to his eyes, Riley doesn’t even seem 29. They look younger than they are, even younger than Michael is, their stature and small frame making them look more like a late teenager than Michael ever looked – even when he _was_ a teenager.

But that doesn’t prevent Riley from feeling way older than they truly are, which is a bit of an issue, because it makes them a little insecure. Whenever Michael presents them as “my partner”, they’re always scared people are going to tell how old they really are and how much of an age difference there really is between them, and that they’re going to frown upon it.

Now, Michael of course doesn’t give a shit about it. He likes that Riley’s older than him, that they’re more experienced, that they’ve seen many a great deal in their life, and he considers a little bit of a miracle that such an interesting and multi-faceted person could ever be interested in him, but apparently that is not enough to quiet Riley’s insecurity when it comes to age, birthdays and all that’s connected with them. So Michael tries to always tackle the issue with care.

“You are an old boot as much as I am a rock, babe.”

“Have you seen yourself on the dance floor?”

“That is unfair, and you’re evil,” Michael frowns.

Riley laughs and reaches out to wrap their arms around his neck. Michael welcomes them against his chest and leans in, silently asking for a kiss that Riley eagerly concedes. “Sorry, sorry. I know dancing is a sensitive topic for you.”

“Speaking of which, regarding my birthday, I was thinking perhaps we could reconsider that clubbing plan we had sketched out a few weeks ago, what do you say?” he asks tentatively.

Riley smiles, and Michael thinks if angel existed they probably would smile just like that.

“I would say that it’s your birthday, Mike,” they answer, “We can do whatever you want.”

That’s the right moment, Michael thinks to himself, I have to say it now. Riley just served it up to him on a plate. There’s nothing he wants more than to introduce them to his family. To let them know they’re loved enough to make such a step necessary, to make sure the whole tribe knows he found The One, finally, and he wants them to meet them. And it doesn’t matter if it’s going to be messy, crowded, loud and ultimately very frightening. It will be worth it.

“I would like for you to come meet my family, on my birthday,” he spills out without even thinking about it, the words rolling on his tongue and through his lips and crashing against Riley’s lips, that are still touching his own in the aftermath of the kiss they’ve shared.

His words must come as truly unexpected to Riley, because they back off right away, blinking rapidly, looking at him as though he had suddenly transformed into a purple, black-eyed and three-limbed alien. “Your family…?” they whisper, completely astonished about it.

“Yes,” Michael nods, “My dad’s throwing me a birthday party. We’ll have a nice dinner and we’ll share a nice cake…” and my father’s first husband will be there too, and he’ll probably fight with my adoptive father, and my adoptive father’s girlfriend will be there too, with my youngest sister and her huge belly, carrying out my future brother or sister, and all my other sisters will be there too, and probably my adoptive father’s ex boyfriend will make an appearance at some point during the night, and my dad will try and kick him out of the house, and he will refuse to leave, and by that point, if he’s drunk enough, my dad could decide it’s time to use the chainsaw that he keeps in his art studio usually just to carve wood, to carve something else, like for example my adoptive father’s ex boyfriend’s face, but you don’t _need_ to know any of that, “… and I would really like you to be there too. I think it’s time you meet my parents. I wanna introduce you to them, it would make me really really happy and it would be the best birthday present you could ever give me. My family’s very important to me, and--”

“Mike-- Mike,” Riley places their hands by the sides of Micheal’s head, holding his face still and squeezing it both from the right and from the left to make him stop talking. “I get it, okay? You don’t have to explain why you want me to meet your folks, it’s kind of implicit, in long-term relationships. I understand the reasoning.”

Michael takes a deep, relieved breath, placing his hands on Riley’s and looking at them in the eyes. “Does this mean you’ll come?”

Riley bites at their bottom lip, looking uncertain for a second. In that second, they look at the same time like the most beautiful thing Michael has ever seen, and the most terrifying too. He has no idea what would happen if Riley said they’d prefer not to. He needs them to come. He needs it because it would mean this, their relationship, is as important for them as it is for him. And if it doesn’t, Michael doesn’t want to think about what that would mean for him. It’d be devastating. The first true heartbreak of his life. He’s too old to survive such pain. Heartbreaks such as these, much like measles, can be deadly if suffered during adulthood.

So he prays. Don’t say no. He begs his own, personal, gray-eyed deity. Come with me.

“Will we be alright, Mike?” Riley asks, looking right at him, “’Cause I’m awkward around parents. I’m shy and I always say the wrong words – if I say any word at all. Can you promise me that, no matter how much of a disaster this dinner will turn out to be, we’ll be fine?”

And without a single moment of hesitation, Michael says yes. So Riley smiles, and says yes too.

As he watches them pick their jacket up from the back of the bench in the middle of the park where they’ve sat together over lunch break, getting ready to go back to the tattoo parlor for their afternoon appointments, Michael thinks that he’s playing a very dirty game. He should tell Riley what’s expecting them comes this damn birthday party. He should tell them about the myriad of sisters, about the complicated relationship situation of his family, about his crazy dads. He should tell them, so they could get ready for it. Prepare, if at all possible.

But he doesn’t. He won’t, because he’s too scared unloading all that on Riley would make them reconsider and cancel the date.

After all, he realizes as he gathers his things and heads back to campus for his afternoon classes, he did more or less the same with his parents about Riley. They still have no idea they’re gender fluid.

*

When he kissed Riley for the first time, after riding them home, Michael thought he was kissing a boy. It was impossible to truly know for sure whether they were a boy or a girl, because their facial features, so rounded and sweet, contrasted starkly with the utter flatness of their chest, and their small stature and the heavenly roundness of their ass contrasted the very same way with the absolute lack of any waistline whatsoever – hips narrow like the eye of a needle, that one – but he had taken for granted they were a boy because, kind of stereotypically, for sure, he tended to consider male whoever didn’t show any typically feminine traits. Riley clearly had no boobs, so they could not be female, and that was the end of it.

Up to that moment, Michael had always liked girls, and had always been with girls. He had had girlfriends – not many, he had been a late bloomer in his teenage years, but a few nonetheless – and quite a good number of one night stands, if he could say so himself, and he had never been interested in boys. However, having been born and raised in an obviously gay-friendly environment, he hadn’t welcomed the idea of possibly being bisexual, or discovering late that he could be gay himself, in a traumatic way.

So Riley was a boy, what about that? The mere idea of getting them naked, kiss them all over, be inside them, made his blood pressure rise to the point of sickness. Finding out he had a penis or a vagina hidden underneath their clothes was really inconsequential.

He was wrong, though, to think about it in such simplistic terms. He had found out soon enough when he had had a chance to introduce them to one of his friends, who was desperately searching for a reliable tattoo artist to get a tattoo done. By that point – it had been a month or so since they had first met, they had already went out together for quite a few drinks and they have messily made out in the back of his car at least thrice, which had left him at the same time deeply dissatisfied and also happy as though he was walking above the clouds. Michael had already been at their tattoo parlor, and he felt fairly confident about introducing his friend and Riley, since he had had a chance to take a look at how they worked, at the cleanliness of the place and, speaking with their clients, he had found out that many of them were recurring and really love their hand - “so delicate,” they said, “it doesn’t even hurt half the time!”. 

He had decided to introduce them during a meeting in a bar, over some appetizers and a nice glass of prosecco. Riley was a bit nervous, both because of the environment, which they were not used to frequent, and the fact that they were about to meet one of Michael’s friends, which was a first. Before getting to the place, they had asked “isn’t it maybe a little too soon?”, and Michael, exciting about the moment, perhaps a little too dismissively had answered “we’ll be alright”.

Things had instantly taken a turn for the worse when, right from the start, Michael had found himself making a mistake he wouldn’t have had the tools to avoid but still should have thought of a way to prevent. “He’s Riley,” he had said, “He’s a tattoo artist.”

He had instantly felt Riley tense up by his side, and at first he hadn’t even understood why.

His friend had introduced himself. Hi, Riley, nice to meet you. Michael told me a lot about you. He’s really head over heels for you. The usual shit friends say to new boyfriends and girlfriends of other friends when they have a chance to meet them, and, politely enough, Riley had let him talk, and when he had finished they had offered him their right hand and had said “Nice to meet you too, but I would prefer to be addressed as _they_. I’m genderfluid.”

In a month of seeing them almost daily, texting them every hour of every day and occasionally snogging them over the weekend, he had never learned that detail about them, and it was an important one. He had never even thought about inquiring. 

Riley had been admirable through the rest of the meeting. They had smiled and chatted with his friend, they had asked about the tattoo he wanted to have, they had taken notes about it and they had even entertained him by drawing a preliminary sketch of the final result on a napkin. The night had been a success, but Michael had left feeling unhappy with himself, and he had had all rights to feel like that, as it seemed Riley shared part of his disappointment.

Michael had driven them home in perfect silence, and once there he had sat silently on the driver’s seat for another full minute or so, before finally whispering “I’m so sorry.”

Riley had shaken their head. “I had never told you. You couldn’t know.”

“I shouldn’t have presumed.”

“Please,” Riley had smiled a little bit sadly, “Everyone presumes.”

“But I’m not _everyone_ and I shouldn’t have.”

Riley had chuckled, shaking their head. “Mike, I don’t blame you,” they had said, “I blame myself. When I asked you if you didn’t think it was too soon to meet one of your friends, I should have said that _it was_ too soon and we should’ve rescheduled. This is an issue of mine. I never say what I think straight out, I always navigate around it and suggest my opinion, hoping the others will just guess it.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s easier, I guess,” they shrugged, “Safer. If I don’t say what I think, I’m protected. I don’t have to explain myself or discuss my decisions.”

“But you might end up being hurt, like today. I hurt you, today.”

“I hurt myself. I could’ve avoided this. I just needed to tell you that I didn’t feel like meeting your friend yet, and maybe in a couple of weeks I’d have had the guts to tell you about my gender and this would’ve never happened.”

Michael had turned to look at them, uncertain if he should touch them or not. He had decided not to, for the moment. “Why did you want to wait to tell me?”

“Honestly?” Riley had chuckled, “Because, as you might’ve guessed, I don’t like to discuss myself. All my adolescence I’ve done nothing but trying and explain what I were and why did I feel like that, first to myself, then to my parents and friends, finally my boyfriends and it’s been exhausting, and I can’t tell you how many people I’ve lost just because they couldn’t accept the truth. I’m almost thirty, now, I thought at some point I would’ve stopped needing to, but you just showed me tonight that I will never. The way I am will _always_ need explaining. And I don’t even know if I can do it.”

“Of course you can do it!” Michael had answered, almost outraged. Discarding all precautions, he had lent in and had cupped Riley’s face in his hands, looking at them straight in the eyes. “Listen. I don’t know much about you. Not nearly as I would. But I already know you’re an extraordinary person, there’s nothing you can do.”

Riley had chuckles, placing a small kiss on his lips. “You don’t know that I’m extraordinary.”

“I do,” Michael had insisted, stubbornly, “My dad says there are only two kind of people, boring and extraordinary. And you’re certainly not boring, so you must be extraordinary.”

“I like your dad’s philosophy,” Riley had smiled sweetly and Michael had decided to, one day, die on those lips. “I’m just not sure it applies to me.”

“It applies to everyone,” Michael had said, “And I get not wanting to explain yourself to others, you know? It happens to me too, sometimes,” he had said, remembering how many times in the past he had purposely chosen not to introduce some friends and girlfriends to his family not to have to explain to them about how they worked, “But I believe that with the people who are really close to you, you don’t really have to explain. You just need to show, and they’ll understand.”

Riley had looked up at him, their eyes shining with the whitish neon lights of the streetlamps. To get lost in those eyes, Michael had wondered, feeling suspended as though floating in a dream, that was probably the only way to reach heaven.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” Riley had said, barely a whisper. Had there been morning, outside, with all the sounds and noises of broad daylight – traffic, people, cellphones ringing and so on – he would’ve never heard it, so soft it had been breathed out. But it was night, the darkness was silent, and it was just the two of them on the street, and those words had echoed in that silence, almost deafening.

“Yes,” he had said, balancing enthusiasm in his voice not to sound too desperately eager. Riley had probably heard the change of tone, though, because they had chuckled and withdrawn, holding his hand into their own, guiding them out of the car and towards the building where they lived. Up to the seventh floor they had gone, after the most tense elevator ride Michael had ever experienced. And once inside the apartment for one second Michael had wondered – maybe he had been too careless in his promises, maybe handling a genderfluid person, sex-wise, would’ve proven to be a little more difficult than he expected. What would have happened if, once naked, he wouldn’t have known what to do, how to touch them, how to make them feel good?

But all of that had disappeared, fading out into non-existence, the moment Riley had dropped their clothes. Their skin was glowing in the dim light coming from the outside, and all Michael wanted to do was drinking the moonlight off their skin. He had gotten down on his knees and, revering them as he would’ve revered the idol of a God, he had made love to them as he had never made love to anyone else, digging into the moment and the feeling coming with it as deep as never before. No embarrassment whatsoever in touching them anywhere, all parts of them felt good and all parts of them, once touched, seemed to draw pleased moans out of Riley’s plump, moist lips.

He had chased love through the night, that time, following Riley’s whispers like he would’ve followed the Pied Piper’s tune had he been a rat of a child. And when it had been time to dive between the waves and be overwhelmed by the flood, he had done it thoughtlessly, with utter abandon and complete satisfaction.

He had left the house the next morning, already late for his classes and with around 50 unanswered calls by his dad on the phone, thinking: I will never put Riley in such a position as I put them last night. From now on, I will make sure everyone I introduce them to know beforehand they have to address them as “they”.

Then he had thought about his parents, and he had reconsidered.

*

Michael’s pretty sure many people would call his parents open-minded, and they sure are, if compared to the standards, but even a couple of gay men currently involved in a semi-open relationship has their limits, and gender-related issues have always been that limit, for them.

Issues that, being Tumblr children, Michael and his sisters can understand pretty well are complete and utter mysteries for their parents. He perfectly remembers one conversation between his sister Portia and Daniel, for example, about this kid Portia knew who insisted he was an aromantic heterosexual cisgender boy. “So he’s a normal guy,” Daniel had said. Portia had rolled her eyes so hard she had probably caused a hurricane in China. “Don’t say _normal_ , dad,” she had said, “It’s discriminatory.”

Daniel had looked at her as though she had suddenly started talking in French. “How is it discriminatory to call him what he is?”

“He _is_ an aromantic heterosexual cisgender boy, that has nothing to do with being _normal_ ,” Portia had answered, clearly irritated by her dad’s lack of understanding of the issue at hand, “What does it even mean to be _normal_ , huh? To follow rules imposed by a patriarchal society like mindless sheep or something?”

“Well-- yeah?” Daniel had tried, clearly at a loss, “That is… sort of the definition for being normal. To conform to a standard.”

“Ah, so what!” Portia had raised her voice in outrage, “I’m normal ‘cause I’m straight and I’m a girl who dresses as a girl?!”

“Yes, sweetheart, you are!”

“And what about an aromantic heterosexual cisgender boy who dresses like a girl, then?!”

“What would that be even!”

“An aromantic heterosexual cisgender boy who dresses like a girl, dad! Like my friend! My friend who you’re being discriminatory against by refusing to acknowledge his gender and sexual orientation in combination with his clothing preferences!”

“Jesus!” Daniel had yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. Achilles, his partner and Michael’s dad, had chosen that moment, of all moments he could’ve chosen, to pass by the hall carrying his chainsaw, directed to the garden. “Love,” Daniel had said, “Your daughter just said I was being racist towards a straight boy just because he likes to cross dress.”

“First world problems, love,” Achilles had answered, dismissively waving his hands in mid-air, “First world problems. These kids know nothing of the struggle it was for us to see our basic rights were granted to us, and believe they’re allowed to be outraged if you don’t accept that they firmly believe they’ve been born as a koala in the body of a girl or a boy.”

“A what?”

“It’s called a theriotype,” Portia frowned, crossing her arms over her chest, “It’s not a gender nor a sexual orientation, therians simply identify as non-human. They’re otherkin.” Then she had frowned sternly, her usually soft and rounded features getting sharper under the shower of freckles on her cheeks and nose. “Be really careful what you say now, dad, I already think you’re racist.”

Daniel had turns to look at Achilles, silently begging him for help. Achilles just shrugged, resuming his march towards the garden. “As I said, my love, first world problems. And stop calling her _my daughter_ when you don’t understand her. I understand her even less than you do.”

That’s what all issues related to gender and identity are to his parents, _first world problems_. Issues a bunch of spoiled, rich kids who never had to want for anything in their life came up with to make their daily routine less boring, to show they too had problems, when they really hadn’t.

It’s not that he can’t understand the reasoning behind it, of course. Their parents grew up in a world that only allowed heterosexual marriages. They fought for recognition their whole life, they had to face real racism, they had to fight stereotypes, justify themselves in the face of the dirtiest and most unfounded accusations, and even today, though gay marriage is widely accepted, their peculiar kind of relationship still faces a lot of stigma, even by the very same LGBT community. Their were very close to many people who stopped calling the moment Daniel got a girlfriend in addition to being married to Achilles, for example.

His parents struggled, and sometimes are still struggling, to be acknowledged for something way more _basic_ than _identifying with an eagle_ or _being a panromantic demisexual nonsurgical transexual person_. Michael can see how they would think these not to be issues that need to be tackled _today_.

Still, this is a problem now that he has to bring home a person who defines themselves as gender fluid and needs to be referred to as “they” and “them”. How is he going to explain his parents that Riley doesn’t identify exclusively as a boy _nor_ as a girl? That sometimes they feel more like a boy and some others more like a girl, and that in no case that as a consequence in the pronouns they use, or they want to be used by others, to address themselves? It’s something he himself sometimes doesn’t clearly understand, how is he supposed to explain it to other people who, on top of it all, consider it an argument to be ridiculed?

He asked Riley what it meant for them to be gender fluid, once. “I don’t wanna bother,” he said, lying on his back on the messed up bed after an epic quickie that had led to Riley making him come twice, once with their hands and once with their mouth, “And I don’t want you to feel like you owe me an explanation. You can refuse to answer, if you want. I’m just curious.”

Riley had chuckled, draping themselves on him and looking down at him, their ashen blonde hair falling on their forehead and framing their face. “What does it feel for you to be a boy?” they had asked. They hadn’t sounded annoyed nor anything, probably just mildly amused and overall interested in having that conversation. “Does it mean that you get to wear pants, talk sports and date beautiful girls?”

Michael had tilted his head pensively, curling his nose. “I wouldn’t say so,” he had said, “I don’t like those stereotypes. I’m not a sporty guy and somehow I ended up dating you, and you clearly aren’t just _a girl_. As far as pants are concerned, though, I love them, but girls wear them too, so I highly doubt that’s an actual factor when trying to define what my gender means to me.”

“So what does it mean to you?”

“I don’t know,” Michael thought hard on it for a few seconds, struggling to find an answer, “It’s just what I am. It’s the first word I’d use to describe myself to someone else. I’m a man.”

“Isn’t it interesting?” Riley had mused, playing with their fingers on his chest, “How much can something we can’t even explain define us?”

That had more or less been the end of their conversation on the topic. Michael had understood that something like that wasn’t easy to understand or to explain to others, but that it was important nonetheless, and as such had to be regarded.

So he knows, now, that he should prepare his parents. He knows he should share the information he has to try and make their meeting as less traumatic as possible. But he’s scared they would mock Riley, naturally not in front of them but before meeting them, or that the information would bring them to think they’re not a serious person, that they’re just one of those kids they despise so much, with too much time on their hands and no interesting hobby to fill it with.

He wants them to like them. And this is why, when he announced he was going to bring his partner home to meet them for his birthday, he had done all in his power to avoid gendering them in any way.

*

The conversation had gone more or less like this.

“Oh, my God!” Achilles had screamed, throwing his arms around Michael’s neck and squeezing him like a bottle of ketchup, “My baby boy’s all grown up and dating people!”

“Dad,” he had answered, sighing, “This is not the first time I date a person.”

“It is the first time you decide to bring one home, though,” Daniel had smiled, somehow managing to make Michael feel like he had all of his attention while at the same time he juggled pans and pancake mix to cook breakfast for the whole tribe, “What’s the name?”

“Riley,” Michael had answered, sighing.

“Aw, such an adorable name, for a girl!” Achilles had squealed.

“Not a girl,” Michael had muttered, looking down.

Achilles had stopped moving altogether, turning to look at Daniel with his eyes and mouth wide open. “It’s a boy...” he had uttered, overcome with feelings. Then, he had turned towards Michael again, “Is it a boy?!”

“Does it really matter if it’s a boy or a girl?” Michael had retorted, already embarrassed and annoyed beyond limits.

Luckily, the question had had the exact effect he had hoped it’d have.

“Of course not!” Achilles had hastened to say, “We get it, you want it to be a surprise.”

“I don’t want it to be a surprise, I want it to be unimportant, it’s different.”

“Details!” Achilles had chirped, throwing his hands up in the air as Daniel chuckled and started serving pancakes like he had to feed a small African nation, “So, tell me, did you meet him in class?”

“No-- I told you it’s not a boy.”

“Oh, so he’s from a different course?”

“They’re not attending college and I told you they’re not a boy!”

“Oh, God!” Achilles had turned to look at Daniel with dramatic, theatrical intensity, “A college drop-out, baby! It’s a nightmare!”

“Love, you barely got your high school diploma.”

“But I was expecting my firstborn and heir to settle down with some erudite, knowledgeable woman! Or man, okay. This is horrible.”

“Dad...”

“Come on, love, not all college people are nice and many unschooled ones are perfectly decent. I’m sure our Mikey chose well,” Daniel had reassured him, casting Michael a smile that had made him feel like a horrible person. (Daniel thinks of him way more highly than Michael actually deserves, especially on account of the fact that he hates Achilles’ first husband Bentley. He likes to say that the fact that he turned out to be such a good boy despite having been shared a house with a horrible man for the first, founding years of his life always gives him hope in humanity.)

“Right!” Achilles had nodded, as always stirred back towards the safe shores of sanity by his husband’s own personal siren song. “Our Mikey certainly chose well. We educated you properly. So what does this person do for a living?”

Michael had breathed slowly in and out, and then had dropped the bomb. “Tattoo artist,” he had said.

Achilles had stared at him long and hard for almost a full minute. “Are you joking?”

“No, dad.”

He had turned around, throwing into the sink the mug that he had just filled up with coffee. “I am going to suicide.”

“Babe...”

“Dad!”

“A tattoo artist! He’s going to cover him in ink, in a couple of years we won’t even be able to recognize his precious face!”

“Aren’t you dramatizing a bit, my dove?”

“Dad, I told you it’s not a boy!”

Breakfast had had to be canceled, as they ran after Achilles to try and stop him from getting his chainsaw and walk out into the street hell-bent on finding this mysterious man he hadn’t even seen him once yet, and amputate his limbs before he could disfigure the pretty face of his baby boy.

That was the moment Michael had decided that telling his parents about Riley’s gender identity, on top of all that, might’ve been too premature.

The problem is that now he’s about to enter the house hand in hand with them, and there’s no telling what’s going to happen. Since that chaotic morning in the kitchen, news of him bringing this person home has spread through the tribe. Not only all his sisters will be here, including Zoe who cut a trip to the Grand Canyon short to be back in time for the great reveal, but Elliot, her huge belly and Julilah decided to show up way earlier than they should’ve to enjoy the show. Even Bentley decided he couldn’t miss “his boy finally getting serious enough about someone to introduce them to the family”, and when Cameron, Daniel’s ex boyfriend, asked if he could come, Daniel naturally said yes, because he’s never been able to say no to the guy. Portia decided to bring her boyfriend too, and that makes a total amount of eleven people plus one yet unborn child vibrating in their shoes, waiting to meet a person who knows nothing about their multitude, and of whom they know close to nothing about.

And the only thing they know, is wrong.

Because, of course, Achilles told everyone Riley was a boy.

So when Michael walks into the house, hand in hand with a person whose gender seems mysterious and that would probably easily be taken as a girl if she had just a little more boobs, the tribe falls into a deep silence, and the first one who breaks it is Octavia, one of Michael’s younger sisters, 8 years old, whom, with all the innocence and naivety of her age, simply says: “Uh… weren’t you a guy?”

Riley turns to look at Michael with a slow, mechanical movement, like they had just turned into some sort of creepy automated doll. Their eyes clearly say they’re going to kill him once they’re alone, and Michael thanks God they are at least choosing to execute him privately.

“Dads… family… other people...” he uncertainly says, squezzing Riley’s hand for comfort and registering with pain that they aren’t squeezing his hand back, “This is Riley… they’re my partner.”

Bentley’s the first to say something after that. “They?” he asks.

Daniel rolls his eyes and then covers his face with a hand. “Oh, God, shut up, you idiot.”

“Yeah,” Portia agrees, “Shut up and don’t be disrespectful.”

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” Zoe snorts, “Our own personal Social Justice Warrior has arrived.”

“Mommy?” Julilah pulls at the hem of Elliot’s skirt, “What’s a solar Janice warlord?”  
“A Social Justice Warrior, baby,” Elliot corrects her, leaning in to pick her up from the floor and almost sit her on top of her immense rounded belly, “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“But I wanna know now!”

“Baby, please, can you take Jules in the other room? This is about to become messy.”

“Oh, Danny, you know that she doesn’t like--”

“Please, love.”

“I don’t understand, is it a boy or a girl?”

“Cameron, please...”

“She looks pretty, she’s a girl!”

“Nebraska, not all people who are pretty are girls...” Octavia corrects her younger sister, Nebraska, age 3.

“Right,” Nebraska nods as though she had understood the correction on a deeper level, “In fact, you’re a girl but you’re not pretty.”

“You pest!” Octavia screams, launching herself at her.

In a matter of seconds, the whole sitting room is a mess. People talking all together right and left, children screaming at each other, Kane, Portia’s boyfriend, walking back into the room with a coke in one hand and a bunch of chips in the other, muttering “what the hell happened here?” while Portia mercilessly hits him on his nape calling him _donkey_.

And underneath all that the deafening silence Achilles brings as, his eyes open wide, keeps staring at Riley and their black leather pants, their denim jacket and the white tank top with a suicide bunny print on the front, clearly having no idea what to do with them.

“Michael,” Riley says, their voice seemingly coming from the very depths of the underworld, “I need to speak with you. Alone.”

Michael nods and guides them towards the garden in the back of the house, past the French window of the sitting room.

The first words he says walking out are “Jesus, baby, I am so sorry.”

“You better be,” Riley answers in a soft growl, “Because we’re breaking up.”

“What?! No!”

“You ambushed me!”

“That was not my intention!”

“I don’t even wanna start investigating your intentions, and believe me, it’s much better that I don’t!”

“Riley,” Michael holds his hands out and places them on their shoulders, squeezing them, “I can explain.”

“How can you possibly explain this away? You told them I’m a boy!”

“No, I didn’t! They just assumed!”

“And you did nothing to correct them!” Riley breaks free from his hold, moving a few steps away, “I can’t belive it. I told you I was nervous, I told you that was a sensitive topic for me, and you find nothing better to do than introduce me to a family who believes I’m male… the fact that I’ve got a dick and you fuck my ass most of the time doesn’t mean that you can do that, Michael!”

“Oh, God, I never even thought about that!”

“And _how many people are there, anyway_?!” Riley almost screams, throwing their hands up in the air, “What kind of a family do you even have?! You have two dads?”

“Yes.”

“And who are those other men, then?!”

“Well, one is my biological father’s ex husband, Bentley. The other is my adoptive dad’s ex boyfriend, Cameron.”

“Why are they even here?!”

“My family has always been like this, okay?!” Michael answers, suddenly feeling attacked even though he knows he has no right to, that he should understand Riley’s anger and welcome it instead of battle it, “Ex boyfriends and girlfriends have always walked around freely, bringing their children with, and that’s how it’s always been, I certainly couldn’t change it for you!”

“But you could’ve _warned me_ about it! Who’s that woman, the pregnant one?”

“Ah… she’s my adoptive father’s girlfriend, Elliot. And the girl was their daughter, Julilah.”

“And the baby in her belly...”

“Yeah, it’s Daniel’s too.”

“How does that even work?!”

Michael snorts, looking away. “Shit,” he says without even thinking, “From someone like you, I would’ve expected some open-mindedness.”

Riley slaps him across the face right away, and he completely deserves it. He takes it, he lets out a pained hissing sound and then, one hand on the skin of his cheek, left hot by the print of Riley’s fingers on his face, he looks back at them. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Stop saying you’re sorry,” Riley shakes their head, “And tell me. I thought I could trust you, Mike. I thougth we had a future together, that we were falling in love. Was that just a misunderstanding? Did I make a huge mistake and wasted these last few months eating out of the hand of a complete imbecile?”

“No, Jesus… no,” he whispers, getting closer to them. This time, Riley allows it, and only when he’s close enough Michael sees that they’ve been crying discreet but bitter tears. “Baby, I’m sorry. I’ve been an idiot. I was scared about everyone’s reaction. I thought you’d be scared if you knew how many people my messy family consisted of and I was scared they’d think you were a spoiled stupid kid if I had told them you’re gender fluid, because they’re not as open as far as gender identity’s concerned as they are as far as alternative relationships are concerned.”

“We call it creative family building,” a voice says, and Michael and Riley instantly turn around to lay their eyes on Daniel, wearing an apron on top of his usual clothes, coming forward surrounded by a reassuring and confident aura. Silently, Michael thanks God for sending Daniel instead of Achilles. Daniel’s a charmer by nature, he might not understand people, especially if they’re complicated, most of the time, but he’s got a smile to die for and the attitude of the person who wanted many things in his life and worked hard to obtain them all.

If there’s someone who can fix this situation, that’s him.

“Creative… family building?” Riley asks, probably curious despite themselves.

“Yes,” Daniel smiles more widely and holds out his hand for them to shake, “Hi, Riley. It’s very nice to meet you. We’re very sorry that our welcome wasn’t the warmest – though much anticipated, your visit hadn’t been sufficiently explained by our son, just as much, I seem to understand, as he had chosen not to share with you a few important details about us. Am I right?”

Riley turns to look at Michael, frowning.

“He’s a lawyer,” Michael says, as though that could be enough to explain it all. 

“I see,” Riley sighs.

Daniel lets out a deep, full laughter, and as it always happen the whole nature seems to participate of it. The grass and leaves seem greener, the flowers smell more nicely, the birds chirp louder and the light breeze turns a little warmer.

As a child, whenever Michael was deeply saddened by one of those little tragedies that always break the good mood of children, like losing a toy or being forced to stay home from a playdate when you’ve caught a cold, Daniel always seemed to find the right way to make him feel better. He spent some time with him, read him a story, played some random silly game with him, and they ended up laughing together and Daniel’s laughter, on his own, seemed enough to cure all kinds of blues.

Michael used to believe Daniel was magic. He’s glad to see, now, that he hasn’t lost his magic touch, because though still nervous and embarrassed Riley seems to soften up a little.

“I’m sorry if I ran away like that...” they say, looking down, “I wasn’t expecting these many people.”

“And, as our little Octavia eloquently explained, we were expecting a boy.” Michael shakes in his boots as he waits for Daniel to add something, anything. The fight with Portia about her aromantic heterosexual cisgender crossdressing male friend still echoes in his mind, filling him with sheer terror. But, thanks God, Daniel manages. He smiles again and places a huge hand on Riley’s shoulder. “But we see now that you are not, and you couldn’t be more welcome. We have a thousand things to tell you. Starting for example with the fact that Michael wet his bed until he was seven years old.”

“What-- Daniel!”

“Sorry, kiddo, that’s just vengeance for putting us all in the position you put us. Your dad specifically told me to say those exact words.”

“You’re both monsters,” he says, but when he hears Riley chuckle and, when he turns around, he finds them smiling, and they look nothing but a heavenly creature, and he’s glad they’re alive, and that he could take them home, despite the half disaster this introduction is going to be remembered as through the ages.

“I have a thousand things to ask you,” Riley says, following Daniel inside, “What’s life like with a husband and a girlfriend? Would you recommend it?”

“A hundred percent yes.”

“Do you think we could try too?”

“If Michael agrees.”

“Not in a million years.”

Riley chuckles again and, as always, Michael follows in to the trace of that laughter. He holds it dear to his heart and hopes to hear more of it as hours pass by. At least for now, tragedy has been averted.

He just hopes he gets to at least wait for desserts to introduce the topic of his father’s chainsaw in his studio.


End file.
